Between Alpha and Omega
by Blackdeer7
Summary: Just over a year has passed since Shepard's death and Liara is back on Omega. If our true self is found between the beginning and end of all things, what will she find on Omega? FemShep/Liara alluded
1. Alpha

**Author's Note:**

01/12/12 edit: I wasn't sure at first, but with the encouragement from readers, this will be a two part story. Thank you for your positive feedback- it was the incentive I needed to resolve the debate in my head and complete this tale. *applauds readers*

Many, many thanks to my beta reader: Lyaksandra. This fic would be paltry without your input. *bows in humble gratitude*  
>Lyaksandra - www [dot] fanfiction [dot] netu/2544544/

I hope you enjoy the story.

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**Between Alpha and Omega**

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When I walked into that space station an unusual feeling overtook me. Shepard would have called it déjà vu. I would call it survivor's guilt.

It was a year to the day. Not the day of Shepard's death, but the day I had handed her body over to Miranda Lawson and into the paws of Cerberus—the pro-human terrorist group. I didn't do it out of love. I didn't do it out of fear. I didn't do it out of loyalty or some high-minded idea that because Cerberus may have the means to bring Shepard back to continue her quest against the Reapers, then it was okay for me to deal with an unsanctioned, murderous demon. No. None of that mattered. My decision to give her body to them was spurred by feelings a bit more basic. I did it out of loneliness… because the elusive hope that I could one day see her again was easier to bear than the desolate knowledge of her being gone forever.

That's not to say I'd forgotten the day Shepard died. That day had been burned into my memory as plasma burns into flesh. That day I had looked through the escape pod's sight glass and watched as the _Normandy SR-1_ had been torn asunder by the collector ship. The frigate's incredible mass had splintered apart amidst celestial bodies of the Terminus system. Painted on the obsidian backdrop of starry space, the sight had been perversely beautiful. I'd heard Joker's screams over the interlinked comms, and against all logic, I had strained to catch a glimpse of her floating in the black abyss—an abyss that mimicked the gaping void in my chest.

I had felt impotent… useless. I'd prayed for the ability to halt time, return to her and save her. But I was powerless, unable to do anything except be a reluctant witness to her death. As silly as it may seem, I had watched because I didn't want her to die alone.

Over a year had passed since that day and I still wanted to halt time, return to her, and save her. Instead of saving her though, I had salvaged her body. Just more guilt to add to the heaping pile. It was a good thing I'd become very adept at burying my feelings.

As I continued through the crowded corridors of the dingy station, I couldn't stop a series of thoughts from racing through my mind: "This is where it all began and ended for me. Where I found out there is a high price to be paid for fanatical pursuit of one's goal. It's where I lost Shepard. It's where I lost Feron. This is where I lost myself."

Omega really was the end of all things.

By the time I entered The Afterlife, I had thoroughly fouled my mood and almost turned to leave, but then I remembered why I'd come back. Aria T'Loak had information I needed and she would only give it to me in person. Once again, my zealous pursuit for information had me compromising my true desire. The information she had related back to the Shadow Broker and although I tried to be nonchalant, Aria had known that I would pay any price for a lead to the Broker's whereabouts. That's why she asked for a face to face meeting; because she had known she could. She liked to toy with people—liked to play games, and because of my need, I had been defenseless against it.

Becoming an information broker had been much easier than I imagined. Turned out being a researcher with connections in the asari government was the perfect recipe to initiate such an endeavor. I had enough credits saved from my time as an active archeologist to rent office space on Illium. As a commerce planet with substantial incoming and outgoing traffic, it seemed like the ideal location from which to launch my new career path. People were always willing to pay for information beneficial to them. Within a week, I'd hired an assistant and immediately set out to fulfill my three main goals: discover as much as I could about the Reapers; establish a solid network of useful, accurate information; and of course, destroy the Shadow Broker.

Within six months my new profession was thriving. If I wasn't gathering information to be sold, then I was scouring the networks to discover who would pay for it. If I wasn't investigating leads, then I was creating false trails for others to follow. I researched geth activities, all major species' fleet movements, the economic market, political activity, new scientific discoveries and anything that had the remote possibility of keeping me, my mind, occupied. I worked myself to exhaustion. To forgetfulness. To numbness.

I had only one obstacle to work through—my innately quiet nature. I learned by watching Shepard that in order to get what you wanted you not only had to be focused, but you had to be determined. For me, that meant being focused on the goal to the exclusion of all else. Sometimes I used Miranda Lawson as a template for my behavior and adopted a cold, calculating attitude. Sometimes I used my mother—the harsh version encountered on Noveria was quintessential during conversations where intimidation had been required. Sometimes I used Shepard—her cocksure bravado and confident demeanor went a long way when securing a deal with timid clients. The only problem with borrowing personality traits from others had been that somewhere along the way I'd forgotten what it was like to be me.

I'd heard people say that endings are the toughest moments to endure. Others said that beginning again was the most difficult. They were all wrong. The most difficult moment to endure was sitting in the merciless wasteland of in between. Sitting in limbo and hoping that the past would enfold you in its warm, suffocating embrace, but also praying that the future would slice through the thick fog and offer you a lifeline—reaching beyond the disorienting moment to save you. While immersed in this 'between', I had discovered that pretending to be someone else was easier than being me.

When I'd reached the far end of the nightclub where Aria resided on her platform throne, her batarian bodyguard, Anto, motioned for me to wait. I had taken the unexpected opportunity to look around the crowded establishment. With its circular bar and asari dancers, the club had reminded me of Chora's Den on the Citadel. Amidst bustling energy and thick sounds, the place had been illuminated with a kaleidoscopic spectrum of ever shifting colors that followed the pulse of the dance music. Hidden fog machines billowed hazy clouds down upon the dancing masses, which then crept along the outlining floor like an ethereal mist. This combination of fog and oscillating lights had added a surreal feeling to the restless space giving it an otherworldly sensation.

The dance floor and booths that lined the outer walls had been filled with patrons who were oblivious to all but themselves. They swayed body to body on the dance floor, whispered private conversations to each other in the booths, hovered next to their momentary interest at the bar, unheedingly groped whoever caught their eye. Part of me had been disgusted by the hedonistic display. Part of me had been envious.

After waiting ten minutes, Anto ushered me into Aria's private lounge. The "Pirate Queen of Omega" was leaning back into an overstuffed leather sofa with her arms stretched out upon the back ridge, like a lioness lazing in the moment waiting for her prey to show. A delicate, sly smile formed upon her lips just before she greeted me. By the time the greeting was over, her smile had transformed into a toothy, wolfish grin.

She offered me a seat, but I had politely refused. I remained standing in the middle of the room, staring back at her with hardened conviction. I had wanted her to know that I was not going to be part of her day's amusement.

We had exchanged pleasantries for a few moments, and then abruptly Aria pushed off from the couch and sauntered toward me, her lissome fluidity like a seductive dance. Well-toned leg muscles flexing easily beneath shimmering material, curvaceous hips swaying hypnotically with each step taken, the carnal gleam in her eyes being matched by the slight menacing smile of her lips—all of which bound me by their dangerous implications. She crossed the space between us and then began to circle me as she spoke—her eyes never leaving mine for long. She casually reminded me of the information she had—the information I wanted—but she'd done it indirectly. Like dropping bait and waiting for the prey to nibble.

Refusing to show any weakness, I continued the conversation matching questions with answers and countering with my own playful banter and witty retorts. The language we both used was ripe with flirtatious innuendo- intelligent rhetoric enmeshed with an innate essence of seduction. It had been a long time since someone challenged me with words and the halo of enticement it produced, both thrilling and intoxicating, took me by surprise.

I knew Aria's game and knew her actions were performed by intelligent design. The way she intermittently stopped to pose, making sure I had the best view of her abundant curves and bewitching body; it was illicit poetry in motion, and also premeditated enticement. She continued her graceful dance, plotting a methodical course back to the couch and returning to her relaxed, predatory perch.

Our verbal sparring continued and with each playful move, the closer I came to stepping over the invisible boundary line. In some ways I'd felt out of control. I didn't know if it was me who was coquettishly toying with the familiar stranger or if I was playing an adopted role. The obviousness of my intent and my questioning of its meaning remained floating in the periphery of my thoughts—in the middle of 'between'. So many mysteries surround us as individuals and so many questions are tied to our choices, but at that moment the questions I had most wanted answered were bound in understanding my own desire.

Once again, Aria slipped off the couch and had slowly made her way toward me. Although mesmerizing, ethereal was not a word I would ever tie to the ruler of Omega. Her innate sensuality was too vivid and dynamic to be mistaken for anything other than primal. Standing in front of me, provocative and unapologetic, Aria's beguiling form had woven into every sensory nuance within my repertoire. I took in the magnificence of her strong, sultry figure. Felt the raw heat radiating off her body. My mouth began to salivate involuntarily as an exquisite blend of scents—a fresh floral aroma braided within a sweet spice—wafted around me. The lustful memory of what it was like to touch warm, soft flesh and feel its touch upon me induced a momentary trance.

The proximity of her all-encompassing allure was maddening—and she'd known it, so Aria raised the stakes. She stepped closer, her lips brushing my ear and without apology, whispered an invite to her bed. She had looked so smug and brash, and in return, I laughed out loud at her audacity.

It was in that very moment that I experienced a personal epiphany: We never exist but 'between'. Between borders delimiting our experiential and pragmatic possibilities. It was there, in our middle between extremes, that we endeavored to know and act. It was there that spread our science and our identity. It was there that we built and organized our world. It was there that we ascertained and forged our individual path. Between the beginning and end of all things was where we discerned our true self.

Maybe that was why when I finished laughing, I said, "yes."


	2. Omega

**Between Alpha and Omega p2**

I hadn't experienced a peaceful slumber since the destruction of the _Normandy SR-1, _and that interlude on Omega, albeit abnormal, proved to be no exception. Although the difference of that moment in comparison to others had little to do with sleep being an elusive entity and more to do with being in Aria T'Loak's bed. From the beginning to the end of my intimate encounter with Aria, I was poignantly reminded of the shifts that had taken place over the last year—of what I'd lost, what I'd gained and what I hungered for within my life—especially physically.

Night was an artificial concept on a space station, and as it turned out, neither of us had needed the manufactured pretence of evening to enjoy each others' company behind closed doors. Once the offer had been made and my reply given, it hadn't taken long for Aria to dismiss the rest of her schedule and for us to retreat to her private room. The suite had been simple, but stylish and tastefully elegant. A small kitchenette had been tucked away in the corner, accommodating various liquors and exotic wines in lieu of utensils. On the far left wall just past the kitchen countertop sat a deep-toned, overstuffed sofa. Even from a distance the satiny texture and fluffiness of the cushions had looked inviting. Residing between the comfortable looking couch and the impromptu bar was a shadowed hallway which had led to a washroom.

The main focal point of the room had been the immense bed with luxurious burgundy sheets, azure hued coverlet and matching throw pillows. All of the other furnishing had seemed paltry in comparison because it dominated the space and left little room for doubt to its purpose. A dim light had emanated from recessed ceiling fixtures, bathing the silken linens covering the bed in a soft, celestial sheen. The glow radiating from the jewel-toned fabric highlighted the beige colored walls imbibing them with an almost mystical quality which perfectly complemented the low luminance of the space. From the contents of the room—or lack thereof—I'd concluded that we were not in Aria's personal living quarters, just a private and secure alcove.

From the moment I walked into the station, the ruler of Omega had been magnetic and enthralling. Her obvious interest and provocative flirtations had been unexpectedly flattering, which only intensified my attraction and heightened our sexually charged interaction. Shrewdly wanton looks full of promise packaged with the dynamic personality of their owner had been an intoxicating combination that—when focused in my direction—sent chills down my spine. Her regal beauty and challenging intellect had been well matched by the sensual curves and lissome strength of her body. I'd been a fool to enter the lioness' den thinking I would be unfazed by her charms. I'd underestimated both my loneliness and her appeal.

Immediately upon stepping through the threshold of the suite, the doors had shut and locked and Aria's lips had descended upon mine. The ruler of Omega, decisive and direct, had not waited for uncomfortable pleasantries. True to form, she'd taken charge of the moment and thus began our lustful, tempestuous affair.

Although it had only been months, it had felt like a lifetime since passion and frenzy had flooded my being—like echoes from a dream barely remembered upon waking. Drunk on the heady pleasure of luring and being lured, I had fallen easily into the wanton desires of my mind and body. I'd been able to once again relish the hypnotic feel of experienced hands imprinting their essence upon my form, provoking sensations and longings that had lain dormant for far too long. Much like cool water to thirsty lips, my fingertips had delighted in their impassioned discovery of the enticing landscape beneath them. The sultry feel of sliding across warm, soft skin; slipping across pliant mounds; and brushing upon hardened peaks had all blended into an intoxicating cocktail of sensual depravity.

Ardent lips had methodically traversed my flesh—nibbling, licking and biting, leaving an electrified wake of arousal in their passing. In return, my mouth had playfully explored the unfamiliar body before me—teasing and tasting the salty-sweet skin, my teeth deliciously sinking into delicate flesh. Soon the ambrosial scent of another had flooded my senses bringing forth a crazed delirium of desire to ravage and consume every inch touched. Without thought or direction the whole of my tingling body—hands, legs, arms, mouth, and fingertips—had moved of its own volition, following the mindless, primal drive of its need. Blood had thundered through the throbbing fibers of my being setting each and every nerve ending ablaze in tumultuous desire, as though purging all nuance of numbness in its path. In between sweat mingling and lustful moans sounding out, a warm silken body had been expertly draped upon mine, tantalizingly bearing its weight down—angling in such ways as to place delightful pressure upon opportune spots and eliciting sharp, gratifying sensations.

The erotic foreplay ministered by us both had stirred my blood and brought to head a powerful aching need—one that had lain dormant for months, born from neglect and loneliness. Under Aria's skillful tongue and lips, her dexterous fingertips, my body had found its powerful release. Not long after, the ruler of Omega had also fallen into a shuddering, blissful oblivion.

As I'd lain in the crumpled chaos of the bed sheets, naked and spent, my mind had unexpectedly fallen upon thoughts of Shepard. I had been unable to stop them from analytical reflections and running along lines of comparison.

Asari were a long-lived race with strong biological tendencies. As such, our cultural and societal norms had existed to reflect both our individual longevity and biological drives. Our early years, the maiden stage, were usually spent seeking adventure, exploring the universe and testing the limits around us. After this, came the Matron stage which brought with it a maternal desire to settle and create roots within a community or some similar collective measure. The end of our life era, the Matriarch stage, tended to involve time spent in the role of dispensing advice or offering council on an individual or communal scale. Of course, as with all sentient beings, it was not uncommon for an individual asari's life to vary from this basic evolutionary template.

My life had been an accurate reflection of this biological tendency. Still in my maiden years, my time as part of Shepard's crew and current activities as an information broker fit well into the category of adventure. Even my occupation as an archeologist researching Prothean culture had been a definitive reflection of exploration.

Because of our long lifespan, we tended to have a "long view" not common in other races. Not even the krogan, who shared our longevity, held this same perspective—assumedly a result of the genophage. My people had adapted this long view in moments when we encountered a new species or situations. Historically, we were more comfortable employing an extended period of passive observation and study rather than immediate action.

Again, my time as a researcher emulated this cultural nuance definitively.

There was one specific trait that I hadn't shared with the rest of my species. Generally, asari tended toward the communal, preferring to live in shared spaces even when other arrangements were available. I, though, enjoyed my solitude and had worked alone most of my life. As a matriarch's daughter, I had studied alone. As a scientist investigating Protheans, I had researched alone. And to be an information broker was to be alone. It wasn't until Shepard recruited me into her squad, during the days of hunting Saren, that I'd become a part of something larger than myself. It wasn't until I'd fallen in love with her that I'd realized the joys of companionship. Before meeting Shepard, I'd been perfectly content being on my own.

The commander had been my first lover. Prior to her, I had never melded with another, so I had no basis from which to compare my experience with her… or any experience beforehand from which to draw longing. After Shepard's death, my body craved to be touched by a loving hand—to sink into the softness of a wet, lingering kiss. Some nights the ache for a warm embrace had been so great that I'd woken with tears still damp upon my cheeks. My loneliness was yet another thing I had blamed her for.

To my own chagrin, I had to admit that Aria and Shepard shared a few similar characteristics. Both held or had held powerful positions, had dominant personalities, had been calculating risk-takers and had been ruthless in pursuit of their goals. Although the means by which they had secured their status varied greatly—Aria had achieved her goals through subversion and infiltration and Shepard through formulated maneuvering and bold action. Nonetheless, they were dynamic individuals that only a fool would trifle with. As the de facto leader of Omega, Aria had proven that she would do whatever was necessary, remove whomever was necessary, to maintain her position of power. Shepard hadn't been a saint, but she hadn't been as self-serving either. She had been willing to give up her commission, her military rank and Spectre title—when she'd hijacked the Normandy to stop Saren and Sovereign—for her belief in the greater good. I had admired that trait in her.

Even though not an elected title, Aria T'Loak had been, in all reality, the ruler of Omega, and little happened on that space station without her knowledge—directly or indirectly. While lying next to her in that bed, I had wondered why she'd chosen me. Had it been about conquest? Or had it been somehow linked to Shepard? Or had it been a simple, unexpected opportunity? Curiosity had gotten the best of me and I turned to Aria and asked her those very questions. Her reply had sounded mischievous, but beneath the surface of her words had lazed a harsh edge. She said that I had reminded her of someone—herself. She viewed me as passionate with tenebrous conviction, especially while I had been in pursuit of Shepard and now in my hunt for the Shadow Broker. In her opinion, few were willing to make the sacrifices needed while in the pursuit of the overarching goal, but she'd seen that aggressive quality in me and it had intrigued her. Honestly, I hadn't been sure whether or not to take that as a compliment.

While still lying on the bed, I'd stared up at the ceiling pondering her words as a breath of melancholy made itself felt like a chill and sudden gust from some unknown sea. Aria had smiled seductively and then rolled over, her hands upon my skin once again seeking to incite and rile, but my body was not aroused, instead it had been repulsed. In that moment, everything about her had felt different. Her body was no longer svelte and inviting; it had become cold and hard. Her kisses were no longer tantalizingly sweet; they had become bland and unengaging. Even her smell had changed from an enticing perfume to pungent blend of musk and sweat. Her kisses and caresses were still expertly performed, but I could tell they weren't full of need or want or desire. They had been administered as though a prelude to a coup.

In those moments of quiet reflection, a subtle shift had occurred—as fleeting and elusive as a dream—but it hadn't been hers. The shift had occurred in me.

For many reasons the interlude with Aria had been markedly different than my first time with Shepard. With both I'd been nervous; Shepard because she'd been my first intimate encounter, Aria because she'd been an experienced asari and had assumedly melded with many others over the years—other asari included. As a result of its unfamiliar nature and the unknown expectations, a sexual encounter with another of my species had seemed daunting. After all, my own intimate experience, although beautiful and prolific, had been limited to just one… and a human, at that.

There had been no reason for me to worry though. As if a door had been left ajar to some unseen world, my experience with Aria had unintentionally confirmed my suspicions. Melding with an asari was similar to melding with a human, in the aspect that each brought their own uniqueness and history to the moment. On a purely physical realm, Aria was a talented lover, but our rendezvous hadn't been about compassion or mutual gratification for her, it had been about conquest and dominance. In her ministrations, she had desired to possess and control—I had tasted it through the subtle tendrils of our melding. During those heated moments, I had been too caught up in the sensations, so overwhelmed by my need, that I'd not been fully cognizant of the intent behind her actions, but in the aftermath they had slowly begun to come into focus.

I don't believe she had originally sought to meld with me, and I know it had not been my intention, but while submerged in the thrall and sensual overload of our individual need our minds had reached out instinctually, without premeditation- like a hand reaching out to caress the form in front of it. The touch had only been a faint, gentle brushstroke, but enough to leave a lasting impression upon us both. The ruler of Omega may have planned it though. After all, she was a risk taker and maybe her curiosity regarding me had demanded it.

Aria hadn't been a cruel lover though, quite the contrary. She had been uniquely skilled and adept at reading her prey's likes and dislikes, but she had also been detached. She had played and toyed in ways that repeatedly reminded me that she was in control, that she dominated the moment. The ruler of Omega had a reputation to uphold both in and out of the bedroom, and her armor—a hardness attained over the years—had never been removed, therefore she had never been fully engaged. My experiences with Shepard had been quite dissimilar. She'd not been afraid to show need or vulnerability and had been a devoted partner in our union.

I had made no judgments nor had I held any allusions about the clandestine aspect of the affair with Aria—at least on an intellectual level. The experience had been pleasurable and exciting, but it had also been laced with a sliver of disappointment, fated to be a momentary dalliance. Logically I'd known she wasn't Shepard, and logically I'd known that she would never fill the void the commander's absence had created in my life, but my heart had wanted to _feel_ something again. Shepard would have said my soul, as well. The commander had believed all beings operated on four planes: mental, emotional, physical and spiritual. From her point of view, my affair with Aria would have only fulfilled my mental and physical aspects, and although appealing on many levels, Aria did not have the ability to meet all of my needs. Shepard had been different; from the onset of our relationship she had met all of my needs and matched my values. With Shepard I had drunk from the well and my thirst had been quenched. With Aria, it had only been partially satiated.

A year after her death, lying in bed with someone else, I had found Shepard still had an influence on my life… but that was the kind of impact she had on people. She rushed into people's lives like wildfire, burned through the twisted underbrush, and depending on one's point of view, left things better or worse. I'd always known I had been better off for knowing her and, in that moment, because of her, I had a better understanding of myself—I would never be satisfied with casual affairs.

While in the midst of her newest flirtations, Aria had sensed my disinterest and harshly questioned my reason for being there with her. Our conversation's momentum heated up after I'd gotten out of the bed and began dressing. In the midst of my fumbled apology, Aria had yelled at me in indignation, angry about daring to refuse her in the name of a dead woman. Our melding, although minimal, had been enough for her to understand my motivations and the hold Shepard's ghost still had on me. The ruler of Omega was not one to be dismissed so easily though, and continued to harass about my "temperamental behavior." She ranted how asinine it had been to deny my body what it had clearly _needed_ ten minutes before—a need a dead human couldn't satisfy. I wasn't sure what had angered her most; that I had denied her affections or that a memory had more sway on me than she.

Although infuriated by her words disparaging Shepard, I had held my tongue, dressing as quickly as I could in the hopes of removing myself from the room with the least amount of confrontation. The ruler of Omega had not been so considerate nor was she one to hold her punches. With a face tempered as steel, she snidely spat mock condolences of Shepard's death—alluding that the haunting of a human's memory would always leave me wanting and alone. She sneered that I'd lost my chance at "getting the fuck I needed" because she was no longer interested in me, and then she said five words that burned into my core and lit fire to my rage.

"Better luck next time, pureblood."

There may have been a time when her words would have wounded the very essence of me causing tears to slip unbidden down my cheeks. There may have been a time when fear would have taken the heart of me and I would have run out of that room in shame. But that day, my memory and emotion surrounding Shepard had surged into my soul like a tempest, insistent and hungry for retribution. At that moment, my mind had seethed. The ruler of Omega thought she knew me, but the person who had known me best was dead.

During our argument, Aria had been arrogant, demeaning and narcissistic. By her words, she had shown that she had no respect or regard for me, my past or my anger. She hadn't seen me as a threat or even as an equal, just a maiden who had lost her way and who had been easily seduced. What she'd arrogantly dismissed would one day be her downfall, but on that day I'd chosen only to give her a dose of her own tyranny—an undisclosed threat.

Nobody had ever called me simpleminded or unprepared. Before I had travelled to Omega, I had done my research on the station's ruler, I had put together the pieces of a puzzle that she'd painstakingly attempted to bury and keep secret. I had discovered that when she was a commando, Aria went by a different name, and that the Patriarch hadn't been the first krogan that she'd gone up against. I had also uncovered that in the days of her deep, dark past she had spared the life of a friend of mine. Those facts, in and of themselves, had not been enough to connect all the various threads and piece together the whole picture. It hadn't been until the ruler of Omega made one crucial mistake that I'd known her true identity: the signature brush-off she had used in her past, she used on me. Sometimes people, their habits, were their own worst enemy.

I turned around slowly, eyes boring unforgivably into hers as rancor and malice like fire took over me.

"Go fuck yourself, Aleena. There won't be a next time."

The shocked and outraged expression on her face as I left the room had been priceless to witness. I wasn't concerned about any fallout from my surprise disclosure. Knowing Aria's previous identity wasn't of any galactic significance nor was it something she'd invest in to keep secret. My theory was unsubstantiated and she'd known it, but the fact that I'd discovered her secret would be impressive enough for her to respect my skills as a researcher. My discretion regarding her secret would then earn some future leverage. As an information broker, I'd known that such a caveat would someday be of great value.

While walking out of that space station, one thought had held a steady grip on my mind.

Omega had been an ending, but now I could begin anew.

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**Author's End Note:**

The Aria/Aleena connection is not a new theory (nor did I originated it), but I finally get to write about it! *big grin*

I hope you enjoyed the story!

The Connection: When you finish Omega: The Patriarch, you can ask Aria her back story- she mentions she has commando training, she was a mercenary, that she's changed her name before, and that the Patriarch isn't the only krogan she's ever pissed off. All of this evidence points to Aria being- Aleena, the asari from Wrex's story in ME1. For the coup de grace, she ends her cryptic back story with the same phrase she gave Wrex when she let him know she hadn't died: "Better luck next time."


End file.
